


Perfect Little Soldier

by UberGoldy



Category: Supernatural
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-08
Updated: 2012-11-08
Packaged: 2017-11-18 05:23:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/557343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UberGoldy/pseuds/UberGoldy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Look at your boys now, Dad," he whispered as he ran a cloth over the smooth surface of the gun.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Perfect Little Soldier

“Heh. Look at your boy now, Dad.” His voice was low, barely above an embittered whisper. He sat cross-legged on a hotel bed, a half assembled handgun and oily rag in his lap. Sam is away, taking far too long to gather food that he didn't want anyway. 

“I can field strip a gun in 20 seconds,” he narrated, deft fingers picking apart the weapon with well practiced ease, “ and I can put it back together in 25.” A sharp exhale of quiet laughter as the pieces were swiftly clicked back together. 

“Blindfolded takes me 30. That's your personal best, aint it? 30 seconds?” he asked. Receiving no answer, Dean continued on unperturbed.

“I get it now, Dad. You knew all along, didn't you? About the angels, the apocalypse...that's the big evil thing you were trying to protect us from, what you wanted me to protect Sam from. Well, you suck. You know why?” he picked at the small brass bullets, plucked one from the pillow and slid it into it's slot. “Because you had no faith in him. You assumed he needed protecting.” 

Another bullet slid into the magazine.

“You assumed he was the weak one. Why, because of a little demon blood? That boy had Lucifer inside him, and he won. He saved the world with the devil inside him. And me? I've only perfected destroying it.”

Another click of a loaded bullet. Another.

“He never wanted this life. He hasn't changed, he's still convinced he can have that apple pie life with the white picket fence, golden retriever and 2.5 kids. He's still trying, Dad, and, get this: he almost made it. He's got the dog.,” Click, “He's got the fence.”

He pauses, the adds another. The magazine is nearly full.

“You trained me to be your perfect little soldier. I trained myself to be your perfect little soldier and like Sam, I almost made it. I can take on ten demons at once. I nearly vamped out, but fought it off. I've killed gods, angels, and everything in between.”

The magazine is full, and shoved it into place with the heel of Dean's palm. It's cocked, and he squints down the smooth barrel to test the balance.

“Sammy and I have been to Heaven and Hell both, and the angels pulled us back each and every time.” his voice is a whisper. “I've been to Purgatory, saw things in there that you couldn't dream of. Became a blood brother to a vampire, and was rescued by an angel once again. An angel who has killed and rebelled and fallen because I told him to.”

Lips turned into a grimace, teeth bared into a quiet sardonic laugh. The mattress springs creaked as he lay back, an arm propped beneath his head.

“You should see your boys now, Dad. Come see your little monster, your perfect soldier.”

The gun is twirled in his hands and pressed beneath his chin. Dean closes his eyes and allows the barrel to push his head this way and that. The metal is cold, this gun hasn't been fired in awhile.  
“ I did my job, Dad. I followed your orders. Sam is safe, he can live on his own. The only reason he doesn't is because I won't let him. I'm the one who can't live without him. Your perfect soldier with an angel on his shoulder that won't let him stay dead, won't move on without him. Sam can do it, already has. Why won't he?”

-

It's ten minutes later when Sam walks in with two large take out bags cradled beneath his arms. He smells it before he sees it, the burning acrid gunpowder mingling with seared flesh.

The sight of the headboard splattered red with blood, of Dean's limp body with blank, half lidded eyes and a hole in his skull stops his heart, and the cartons of noodles and vegetables tumble to floor, spilling their contents onto the dingy carpet.

The walls echo, 

“Dean, Dean, Dean, DEAN.”

They bear Sam's voice.


End file.
